


You and Me and Your Needs

by reserve



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Dylan Strome is a Switch, Established Relationship, Intercrural Sex, Kink Negotiation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-29 09:40:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18221420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reserve/pseuds/reserve
Summary: Alex wants to talk about it.





	You and Me and Your Needs

**Author's Note:**

> To Megan and Becks who encouraged me. I have about six WIPs but this is what happened when I couldn’t sleep tonight.

* * *

Alex says, in his unassuming way, “is there anything you miss? That you want?”  
  
It makes Dylan fidget, the way he says it. Like it’s a usual thing to ask. Like he’s asking what Dylan wants to order from the sushi place they like, not wondering what Dylan wants in the fucking bedroom. He shrugs against the sheets, awkward because Alex is half draped over him, propped up on his elbow, other hand on Dylan stomach, low, like it has plans for him. Awkward because _he’s_ awkward.

Alex makes an inquiring, interested sound. He’s never backed down once for as long as they’ve known each other.

Dylan’s mouth pulls itself into a frown before he manages to say, “no. I mean. Not really. Maybe little things.”

He doesn’t say _Mitch-things,_ because they don’t really talk about that side of this. The part where Alex has an understanding girlfriend and Dylan spent part of 2015 putting Mitch Marner on his knees once he decided to stop hating him. Once he channeled it into something else and they lit the lamp together at Worlds.

“Like what?” Alex asks anyway

“Just stuff.”  
  
“Like?”  
  
“Things you won’t let me get away with.”

Alex gives him this look of mock-outrage. “I let you get away with just about everything.”

“No, no you’re right,” Dylan says. Thinking, guiltily, about their 2016 season, when he came back to Erie and Marner was in the NHL, and Dylan tried some shit with Alex that he might never live down. “You’re so good to me.”  
  
“Ok, but what.” Alex pinches him, his tummy. A little sharp pinch above his boxers. And that’s the real, bright line difference: Alex gives as good as he gets, no different from when he’s on the ice. No different from when he kneed Dylan directly in the nuts and they went to bed fuming mad in their shared basement billet bedroom. Pissed off at each other because Dylan couldn’t keep his mouth shut and Alex didn’t like being told what to do.

In the moment, in the right now, he rolls his eyes. Moderately annoyed that Alex never lets him off the hook. “God. Just. You know. You don’t like being—messy. Or, uh. I can’t like.”  
  
Alex pinches him again, and Dylan sort of slaps his hand away before catching it up and bringing the palm to his mouth. Kissing. Like he’s trying to muffle himself, holding tighter when Alex tries to pull his arm away.  
  
“I can’t make you cry,” Dylan says, making eye contact in the dark.

Alex hums. It might be assent. Dylan kisses the tips of his fingers in reply. 

“And I try,” he says, “to do what I need, how you want.”

“You’re very, very needy,” Alex says. 

“Yeah,” Dylan whispers. He puts Alex’s hand against his cheek and holds it here. Rubs his skin against it, damp from his own mouth. Watches Alex watch him. “But you don’t mind.”

“You are very, very lucky.”

Alex leans down to kiss him, his elbow digging into the mattress, braced against Dylan’s side for balance. Dylan opens his mouth for it, catches Alex’s big, soft upper lip between his own two. Alex makes the kiss deeper, which is gratifying. He _is_ lucky. Nice to know that they can go from talking about Dylan being a freak to making out, Alex pushing against Dylan’s hip, rowdier than Dylan expected this to get. He puts his hand on Alex’s little ass to make sure Alex knows he’s game too, wraps the other one around the back of his neck.

Alex makes a nice sound for him, encouraging. It lets Dylan push his tongue into his mouth, demanding more: more open, more access. Wetter. He’s always looking for a way to stop talking, and kissing is the best way he knows to shut himself up.

They’re on the road, which means more freedom, too, and the company Dylan missed painfully when he was in Arizona. But—Alex is usually so focused after a game. He’s one of the most driven people Dylan has ever met; if he’s insecure he’s never shown it. He’s normal, balanced in a way that feels unironic and real. He’s the calm, quiet counterpart  to all of Dylan’s...Dylan.

Maybe losing tonight made him introspective, maybe it was the beers they drowned the loss in, then half-slept off before this. Doesn’t stop him from mentally high-fiving himself because this shitty day is ending with sex

“Baby,” Dylan whispers, when the kiss ends. He rubs their noses together. “Hey Kit, you want it?”

Alex, under different circumstances, would probably scoff at the nickname, at the bargain basement almost dirty talk, but he nods instead.

“Can’t believe you have to ask,” Alex says, turning away and onto his side so Dylan can scooch up behind him, and tug down both of their boxers in a series of inelegant movements that make Alex grumble, mildly impatient to Dylan’s ears.

“Listen, consent is sexy.”

Alex snorts, and shimmies back against him once he’s situated, plastered along Alex’s back. Alex, helpful and easy, reaches down between his own legs with—Dylan sniffs the air—a handful of hotel issued lotion that he must have stashed on the nightstand. Such foresight. Smears it up his thighs, and _fuck,_ into the cleft of his ass, back of his hand bumping into Dylan’s hardon.

“Come on,” he says. “Get closer. I want it.”

“Fuck yeah, you do.”

Dylan guides his dick into the slicked up space Alex is offering him, rubs up against his asshole, and feels Alex clench up, his muscles bunching against Dylan’s crotch. It feels amazing. “I always wanna fuck you,” he mutters, mouth on Alex’s neck, hand gripping Alex’s hip for leverage. Alex is touching himself, using the leftover lotion to rub one out while Dylan does his best to lose himself to the proximation of intercourse. God, he wants inside. Can feel how hot Alex is just like this, pushing back towards him like he wants it too, either intentionally or because he can’t help himself and it feels good to have Dylan close. “Wanna fuck you for real.”

“Too bad,” Alex grunts.

“You’re so mean, Kit. All I do is love you.” He holds Alex’s hip tighter, fingers pressing in.  Hazy and riled up, he thinks: I should get a handful of his hair, pull his head back onto my shoulder, suck at his neck until it’s all marked up. Thinks: I should bite. And doesn’t. Settles for nuzzling Alex’s earlobe instead, pulling it into his mouth and breathing heavy into Alex’s ear until Alex moans and shudders against him, whole body going rigid and still, thighs so tight around Dylan’s dick that he could almost, almost imagine Alex let him inside.

He shivers violently against Alex’s back when he comes. Shoved in as deep as he can be like this, palm pressed low on Alex’s sticky comed-up belly, keeping him close.

“That’s nice.” Alex sighs. He sounds so content. “You’re good.”

“I’m not.” Dylan can’t help himself. He wants Alex to lick his hand clean. He wants his hand at Alex’s throat—he wants.

“We can talk about it more at home.” Sometimes it’s like Alex can read his mind. “We’re older now. It’s almost summer. He could visit.”

“Who?” It’s not—he doesn’t want Alex thinking about Marner while Dylan is still between his fucking thighs. “You know what? Don’t say it.”

“But—“

“Baby,” Dylan says. “Baby, baby.” He wraps his arms around Alex, he doesn’t want to get up and clean up. He doesn’t want to go anywhere. “I only—“

“We can talk about letting you get away with more, if that’s better.” He can feel Alex swallow. “We can do that.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Dylan kisses the back of his neck, where his hair is all sweaty. “I’d like that.”

”You _are_ good,” Alex says. “I mean it.” He’s so sincere. 

“If you say so. You’re the boss.” 

Alex turns over, dislodging him, careless of the mess. He kisses Dylan, hard. Meaningfully. “I am,” he says. “Yeah.” 

He is. And honestly, Dylan is fine with that. He hadn’t known it when they met—but now he does. He’s good. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me on tumblr.


End file.
